


ride or die (i know we're getting older but that don't mean it's over)

by maximized (florfering)



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Brother/Brother Incest, Connor and RK900 are Twins, Cunnilingus, Incest, M/M, Trans Connor (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 04:52:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15622962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florfering/pseuds/maximized
Summary: Connor, dumbass and smartass extraordinaire, lands himself in the hospital again.Ethan isn't quite happy with that.





	ride or die (i know we're getting older but that don't mean it's over)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ididntsignupforthisshit (myhamartia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myhamartia/gifts).



> _**BIG INCEST WARNING!!! LEAVE NOW IF YOU AIN'T INTO THAT!!**_  
>  still here? perfect :3c 
> 
> THIS IS DEDICATED TO MY BEST BITCH OLLIEPOP bc i love him and hes the best :triumph: :triumph: forreal tho this fic prolly wouldn't exist if it weren't for him so :'3c it'd be forever stuck in wip hell lmAO smooches love you olliepop
> 
> title from ride or die from the knocks!

Connor perks his head up from his laptop when he hears someone enter the house. After a quick glance at the time, he realizes it's Ethan coming back from his trip, and after a brief passing thought about why Ethan didn’t text him when he arrived, he’s about to resume browsing through his articles when the door slams shut. 

Well, then. He’s _furious_. Connor might have an idea why. 

Preparing to pacify his brother, he tosses his laptop aside after closing the lid and hops off the bed, careful not to disturb the bandages on his side. He strolls out of his room, and he's on the top of the stairwell when he sees Ethan making his way up, a nasty scowl twisting his face. 

He decides to go for a concerned approach. Maybe he’s not fuming about what Connor thinks it is.“Hey, bro, what’s wro—”

Ethan cuts him off with a glare. Or maybe he is. 

Connor takes a step back, hands up in a placating gesture as Ethan tromps up the rest of the stairs. He fists the lapels of Connor’s sweatshirt, yanking him close so he can glare right at him. Connor winces slightly from the sudden movement, and he hopes that Ethan thinks it’s from the unexpected jerk rather than the jolt it delivers to his side. Despite the two being twins, he has a couple inches on Connor, and the small height difference looms over Connor more than ever. 

“What the _fuck_ were you _thinking?”_

The words were disproportionately quiet to the rage they held. Connor places a hand on Ethan’s. They’re shaking. 

“I had to. They could’ve died, Ethan.” 

Ethan seems to only get angrier, hissing out, “Reed already had it covered. You also could’ve died, _dumbass_.”

Connor may be a dumbass, but he's a stubborn dumbass. “And I would’ve died knowing I saved them. It was my duty.” Before Connor can register Ethan pulling his hand back, his head whips to the side with the sting of a fist. When he turns back to Ethan, he can see indignant tears threatening to spill. 

“You self sacrificing piece of _shit!”_

It’s the only time Connor has heard Ethan raise his voice above a quiet but firm statement in a while, and his heart rate jumps. He opens his mouth to explain, but Ethan rushes forward with an aggressive kiss, taking the opportunity to shove his tongue between Connor’s lips. He’s pushing into the kiss and swiping his tongue across his mouth hard enough that it starts to hurt more than anything, but Connor knows he needs this, so he relaxes into his hold. He lets Ethan taste and feel him, molding himself to his instinctual desire--a quiet shower of rain meeting a conflagration. 

After twelve counts of his heartbeat slowing down some, Connor feels Ethan set him down gently and break away. His ire has subdued some, assuaged from a blazing firestorm into a smouldering ember. He’s still glaring daggers at Connor, but there's a worried vulnerability that softens them, and Connor brings up a hand to brush aside a tear staining Ethan’s cheek with his thumb, whispering, _“I’m okay.”_

Ethan leans into his touch, and Connor closes his eyes and rests his forehead against his twin’s. He takes one of Ethan’s hands and guides it to his chest, laying it against his heart and letting him feel it, beating and steady and _alive_. 

After feeling Ethan’s harsh, shallow breaths even out, he turns his hand and interlaces their fingers, leading a complacent Ethan back to their bedroom in a manner not unlike the way he would when they were much, much younger and Ethan would squeeze Connor’s hand, frightened of what lurked in the dark. Connor smiles at the memory. 

He sits them down on the bed and pulls Ethan in for a tight hug, ignoring how his side throbs. Ethan clutches at the fabric at the back of his hoodie, tucking his head in the crook of Connor’s neck. His body shakes with silent sobs as Connor brings up a hand to card his fingers through Ethan’s disheveled hair. It’s so reminiscent of their childhood, and Connor feels his chest warm. 

They stay like that until Ethan feels the lump of bandages on Connor’s side and pulls away. His face is red from crying but his expression is stern as ever. 

“What is this.”

Connor laughs nervously, placing a hand on the back of his neck. “It’s not anything serious, really. Just some—”

And it seems that Ethan tires of his bullshit because he shoves Connor’s hoodie and shirt up to look at it himself. He brushes his fingers against it, unexpectedly gentle, and doesn’t say anything. The quiet scrutiny makes Connor squirm, despite having been on the receiving end of it countless times before, the other scars littering his torso, arms, and legs testaments to that fact. 

Honestly, it _isn’t_ all that bad. The nurses were just overzealous in dressing his graze, making sure he healed properly and all that, but he has a feeling it’ll scar either way. It’s a little sensitive, but he’s fine otherwise. 

Ethan lets his hoodie drop and slumps forward, resting his head against Connor’s chest. For such a rough and gruff detective, he’s surprisingly soft and when it comes to Connor. 

Connor places a hand over Ethan’s and laces their fingers together, bringing it up to his lips to press a kiss to them. 

“I hate you,” Ethan mumbles into Connor’s chest. He’s not angry anymore, just tired. 

“That’s fair.” Ethan huffs a laugh at that and finally raises his head to look at Connor. The softness in his gaze makes Connor give him a slow smile and he leans down to press a kiss to his lips. They don’t move for a while, just feeling the other breathe. 

When Connor pulls away, eyes fluttering open, Ethan smooths his hands down Connor’s hoodie, toying with the loose threads at the bottom. Connor watches Ethan, whose eyes are downcast as he focuses on his hands twisting into the hem. There’s a comfortable silence between them. 

“When I heard from Stern that you’d been hurt in the field and had to go to the hospital, I thought I might’ve lost you.” 

Connor winces. That phrasing made it seem worse than it actually was. 

“But, I’m here, now. You know I’m okay, now.”

Ethan clenches his hands in the fabric. “I don’t want to keep hearing from other people that you put yourself in danger again. I don’t want to keep teetering on the edge of my seat because I don’t know if you’ll be in a body bag the next time I see you.” He starts shaking again, and Connor feels guilt weighing in his stomach. It hurts more than the throbbing in his side, and he doesn’t know what to do, for once. 

He can’t reassure Ethan and promise him he won’t put himself in danger again, because he’d be lying. It’s just his instinct to rush in and protect other people; it’s part of what makes him a good cop. 

In the end he wraps his arms around Ethan and presses a kiss to his temple, rubbing his back comfortingly and hoping that Ethan understands what Connor can't convey in words at the moment. Ethan moves in to tuck his head in the crook of Connor’s neck again, a silent forgiveness. Connor’s thankful that he knows him so well. 

Connor starts to get sleepy, and he’s about to suggest that they two go to sleep when he feels a nip on his jawline, right below his ear, and jumps in surprise. 

“That was for making me worry, my dumbass of a brother.”

Connor tries to hide a smile in his twin’s hair as Ethan moves down, pressing a soft kiss to his pulse point. 

“That’s for saving other people, no matter what.”

Connor feels tears gathering at how Ethan feels proud of him despite it all, but he blinks them away. Ethan slides his hands under the hem of Connor’s shirt and up his torso as he peppers more kisses and nips down Connor’s sensitive neck. Connor arches into the touch, but it’s a bit of an awkward position with both of them sitting on the edge of the bed, so he grabs Ethan’s arms with his own to stop him. 

All plans of sleeping dissipate from his mind, and he remembers the fact that Ethan hadn’t been home in two weeks. They have a lot of missed time to catch up on. He takes a breath to steady his heart rate before saying, “L-let’s re-adjust.” Ethan nods and withdraws his hands, crawling further onto the bed. Connor feels cold without them, but he follows Ethan, settling on his thighs and straddling him. Ethan quickly divests him of his hoodie, and is about to take off his shirt when Connor stops him. “Not yet.” He averts his eyes; he doesn’t know whether he’s self-conscious of his scars or his wounds right now, but he can’t shake the discomfort. It’s usually not this bad, and he hates how it gets in the way now. 

Ethan nods, and instead starts undoing his tie. Connor scooches back and works at tugging his jacket off, marvelling at how his dress shirt stretches over his form. He’s part amazed and part jealous, but he shoves the envy aside, instead smoothing his hands down Ethan’s arms. 

“Do you have to do this every time?” Ethan grumbles, finally tugging on one end of the tie to pull it from his neck. Connor knows he secretly loves the attention though, so he nods vigorously, brushing his fingers against Ethan’s collarbone that peeks through the open lapels. He's memorized their shape and committed them to memory, but there's nothing that he loves more than tracing all the bumps and ridges of Ethan’s body again, rediscovering all his perfections and faults. 

Ethan moves to undo the top button, but Connor stops him, cooing, “Let me, brother dearest.” 

Ethan rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his face. Connor feels just a little bit proud that he can make his grumpy brother smile so easily, and smothers a grin as he unbuttons his shirt. With every button freed, he takes a moment to press his lips to the hard muscle revealed and caress it, lightly dragging the pads of his fingers across his chest. 

Gorgeous. 

Somehow, with how much Connor was taking his time unbuttoning Ethan’s shirt, the atmosphere changes, and Connor can’t help but squirm a bit. When he adjusts, he can feel the outline of Ethan’s cock growing hard against him, and for a moment, his mind goes blank. 

He blinks, and Ethan’s taken to running his hands up and down Connor’s thighs. There’s nothing more that he wants than for Ethan to go a little bit further and shove a hand down his boxers, but it’s not time for that yet. 

Once Connor undoes the last button, suddenly aware of how heavy he’s breathing, Ethan shrugs off his dress shirt and doesn’t move. Connor’s puzzled until he realizes that his twin doesn’t want to _hurt_ him by accidentally rubbing against his wound. Ethan’s letting Connor take control, which both balloons his chest with happiness and fills him with anxious excitement. Ethan has a natural talent of knowing Connor’s limits and taking care of him, which often leads to him leading the way. This—this is unfamiliar territory. 

Connor swallows, the way the muscles of his throat ripple at the forefront of his mind. He licks his lips and moves back a bit on Ethan’s thighs again, unbuttoning his pants and relieving the pressure on his cock. He takes it out, stroking it to full length as it bobs slightly to the left, like it always does. Connor wants to put it in his mouth. 

But then his entrance throbs and Connor’s attention is diverted elsewhere. He fidgets, taking one of Ethan’s hands and guiding it to the front of his boxers. 

“We’ll do each other at the same time,” he mutters, looking down at where their hips press against each other and giving the reins back to Ethan. He trusts Ethan, but right now, he doesn't want to take control. Another time, maybe. 

“Right,” Ethan says, and Connor can hear a tinge of amusement to his voice and feels his face warm. He can’t bear to look at Ethan’s expression right now. He is so shit at asking for what he wants when he isn’t delirious with need, Ethan _knows_ this, the prick. He’s about to whine at him for being an teasing asshole when Ethan brushes his fingertips against Connor’s inner thighs and he shivers instead. 

“J-just get on with it,” Connor stammers and starts rubbing Ethan’s cock to distract himself, the heavy weight a familiar one in his hand. He places a hand on Ethan’s shoulder to steady himself so he doesn't slide or fall off as Ethan slips his hand into Connor’s boxers and uses two fingers to spread him apart, massaging his middle finger up and down his entrance and collecting fluid along the way. 

Connor inches closer to Ethan so he can rest his face in the crook of Ethan’s neck. This way, Ethan can’t see him if he twists up his face in pleasure. He knows Ethan prefers it when he can look, but it’s so _embarrassing_. 

Connor resumes stroking him, twisting his hand on the upstroke and swiping his thumb against the slit to collect precome. He lightly scrapes a nail on the underside of his cock, right below the head, and Ethan shivers at that, his rhythm of rubbing Connor’s entrance stuttering for a bit. Connor smiles even though he anticipated that reaction, and rubs harder into that spot until Ethan lets out a gasp. He feels his chest warm again, this time from both pride and adoration, and kisses Ethan’s neck, just because he can. He is so warm and comforting and Connor has to restrain the urge to snuggle into him. For now, all he does is breathe in the faint scent of his familiar cologne and imprint it into his memory yet again. 

Ethan teases a nail against his dick, and the sensation makes him muffle a whimper in Ethan’s neck. Connor doesn’t know if it’s in revenge or not, but he wants him to do it again, harder. His hips move of their own accord, pushing into Ethan’s hand, who pushes back with the heel of his palm. Connor grinds against it, seeking some kind of friction on his dick, but Ethan steadies him with his other hand. 

“Boo, you whore,” Connor says, but he relents and shifts his hips back, going back to sliding his hand up and down Ethan’s dick and massaging his balls. 

Ethan’s breathing grows heavy and Connor mirrors him, feeling his back warm from the exertion. When Ethan slips a couple fingers inside, he throws his head to the side and knocking into Ethan’s shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut. He wants to fuck himself on his long, slender fingers, but he knows Ethan would make him pause, so he grits his teeth, shaking with the effort to keep still. He has no idea how Ethan has such strong restraint to not buck into his hand, but he knows that that precious self-control can break sooner or later. 

When Ethan thumbs his dick, Connor lets out a moan and bites on his bottom lip, trying to stifle any more that may come out. The taste of blood seeps from his lip as it bursts from the sharp pressure, and he’s suddenly aware of the slick sounds of Ethan pumping his fingers in and out of him. Both his neck and back prickle and heat up in embarrassment, but there’s also a warmth in his gut that keeps building and he just needs Ethan to move _faster_. Yet, Ethan continues his slow, even pace, gently flicking a thumb at his dick now, and the stimulation is enough to keep him hovering just at the edge. 

He swallows a growl and blinks back tears of frustration before deciding to just _fuck it_ and start grinding against Ethan’s hand himself and _it's so fucking good_. Connor can't stop the desperate, needy whines that escape him and he doesn't notice that he's stopped stroking Ethan’s dick until he finds himself wrapping both his arms around Ethan’s chest to anchor himself to his twin, his reliable brother, feeling the thin layer of sweat on Ethan’s chest stick to his shirt. Ethan’s elbow knocks into his side, but the pain adds to the haze in his brain more than anything and Connor can’t help but let out a moan. 

Connor bites down on the juncture between Ethan’s neck and shoulder to muffle his voice as he comes, but the sound still slips out. His hips slow to a stop and he falls back on Ethan’s lap and rests his forehead against his chest, needing to take a moment to catch his breath. 

Ethan takes the time to bring his hand up to his mouth and, Connor, interest piqued, watches as he laves his tongue between his fingers, cleaning his digits of Connor’s come. Connor wants to look away but it’s _entrancing_ and he’s bewitched, eyes locked on how Ethan’s tongue darts up and down and between his fingers. 

When Ethan finishes, Connor takes a deep breath, feeling his heart rate go back down to a semi-normal speed where it isn’t thudding in his chest, and presses his lips to the corner of Ethan’s mouth, nipping at the skin. Ethan turns his head to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue in and tracing all the ridges of Connor’s mouth. 

Connor hums, running his hands over Ethan’s back. He slides them down until he hits his ass, and after giving it a firm squeeze, goes back to lavishing attention on Ethan’s dick. He makes sure to pay attention to both the spot under the head and the veins that stretch across his length, scraping a nail down the length as Ethan gasps then nips at his bottom lip. He slides his tongue over the cut Connor made biting down to muffle himself earlier. It doesn’t exactly soothe it, but it feels nice.

Ethan’s been leaking a good deal of precome at this point, and Connor smoothes it down his whole length before pulling away. “Do… do you want to…” Connor trails off, hoping that Ethan gets the message. Scratch that, Ethan knows what he wants—he’s just hoping that Ethan will let him have it without having to say it. 

But Ethan hums, nosing down Connor’s neck and pressing more kisses along his neck. “I don’t quite understand what you want, brother dearest.” 

Connor huffs in frustration. He’s too clear-headed for this, but he leans up anyway to Ethan’s ear, breath ghosting against the shell. He can feel his twin shiver against him and it makes something deep in his gut twist in pride and pleasure. It’s suddenly too hot and he’s all too aware of how Ethan presses against him. 

_“Please fuck me,”_ he murmurs, grinding his hips once against Ethan’s cock for emphasis. _“No one can fuck me as well as you.”_

He gives his ear a light bite, and can almost hear Ethan’s self-control snap. 

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” Ethan mutters, pushing Connor off to pull at his pants. His hands are definitely shaking, and Connor feels a smug smile worm its way on his lips as he slips off his boxers. Once Ethan’s free of his dress pants, he pushes Connor onto his back, still careful of the lump of bandages on Connor’s side. Flush visible down to his neck as he crawls over Connor, he cages him with his forearms, hissing, “Do you have any _idea_ what you do to me?” 

Connor swallows, suddenly dizzy from the fall and the way Ethan looms over him, pupils blown and sweat slicking down his neck. His entrance throbs again and he uses two fingers to spread it, stroking at his dick. He raises his head to look directly into Ethan’s eyes with an unfocused gaze. _“Please._ I _need_ you.”

And that’s all Ethan needs to push his cock against Connor’s entrance, bottoming out in one smooth motion, and Connor thumps his head back on the bed, feeling _his brother’s cock_ stretching and spreading him open. Connor wiggles his hips in a daze, urging his twin to move, and Ethan acquiesces, pulling back so only the head remains in Connor before thrusting back in, the sound of their hips slamming against each other echoing in the room. 

Connor groans, reaching up to grasp for Ethan’s shoulders. When he makes contact, he pulls Ethan down to him, yearning for the steady weight of his chest on him. Even though it can restrict his breathing, there’s something about being so close to Ethan and feeling every inch of his skin sliding against him that makes something in his chest burst with a myriad of emotions he wouldn’t be able to name if he tried. There are too many names for it—admiration, adoration, devotion, reverence—but none of them can encapsulate what he feels. 

Ethan moves back and splays a palm on Connor’s soft stomach and slides it up his torso, careful of the gauze, as he sets a pace, torturously slow, eyes locked the way Connor’s face contorts and twists in pleasure. Connor can feel a layer of heat on him where Ethan touches him with both his skin and gaze and every drag of his brother's hips steal away his breath. He resists the urge to sob and instead leans up to capture Ethan’s lips in a kiss, mouthing a litany of _‘I love you’_ s into the familiar warmth. 

The lip movements are sloppy, but Ethan understands him. 

He always does. 

Rather than try to return the words themselves, he gropes around for Connor’s hand, interlacing their fingers and presenting a light kiss to their knuckles. Connor feels tears slip out and the sob that he had been swallowing down bubbles out of him. He pulls their still interlocked hands to the side, out of the way, but still connecting them.

With the next push in, Ethan twists his hips in a way that makes Connor keen and he scrambles to find purchase on his twin with his free hand, digging his nails into the sweat-slicked skin of his back as Ethan leans down to push their lips together in a vague imitation of a kiss and groans into his mouth, the rhythm of his hips speeding up. Spit dribbles from their lips, and Connor can’t tell whose it is, only that he flushes when he hears the filthy sound it makes when Ethan slurps it up. 

Ethan, always so precise and calculated, falls apart in his arms, and Connor feels something ugly and possessive rise in his chest when he thinks about the fact that his twin has only felt like this with _him_. Little gasps and grunts filter through Ethan’s lips and Connor swallows them as he returns the sounds. He can feel Ethan’s pace grow erratic, furiously thrusting into Connor as he seeks his release. 

Ethan bows his head, and Connor hugs him even closer than they already are, slotting his twin’s head next to his, and he squeezes his eyes shut as Ethan chafes against his bandages. He’s dizzy from all the sensations that surround him, and almost doesn’t notice Ethan coming, but moans at the feeling of Ethan filling him up as his twin stutters to a stop, his knees wobbling before he collapses on Connor. He winces from the twinge it delivers to his side, but after the pain fades, he basks in the moment for a bit before the last of Ethan’s come and frustration from not coming trickles in, and he squeezes a hand between them to rub at his dick, but Ethan grabs his wrist before he can, panting, “I-I’ll do it. Just… just give me a minute.”

Connor whines but relents and lifts Ethan’s head, watching him blink blearily back at him. Affection overflows in him and he gives his precious twin a wet, loud kiss. Ethan makes a face but it morphs into a sweet smile once he moves back to look at Connor. He pulls out, and Connor groans at the feeling of his come leaking out of him. He fingers himself, trying to push it back in as Ethan crawls down, pushing Connor’s shirt up slowly to pepper kisses all over his torso. Connor’s hand stops, and he lets Ethan adore him, slipping his eyes shut so he isn’t tempted to look at his reverent expression. It'd be too much for him. 

Ethan brings Connor’s hand up to his mouth to clean his fingers of all the come before bunching Connor’s shirt at his collarbone and thumbing the twin scars that lie on his pectorals. Connor shivers, not at the sensation, but rather at the memories that lie in them. Even if Ethan didn’t understand him at first, he always supported him throughout his journey in his own way, though it included too many fights with Connor’s opposition for his liking. He’s mellowed out, now, though, but he still has his moments. Connor appreciates his brother nonetheless. 

After scooching down some more, fingers skimming down Connor’s torso and tracing all his scars once more, Ethan settles so that his face is right at Connor’s hips and he can nibble at the skin of his inner thigh. Connor’s legs twitch as he spreads them and tangles his fingers in the curls of Ethan’s hair, guiding his head and his clever mouth to his entrance. He shivers when Ethan’s hot breath ghosts against it.

“Don’t tease, Ethan. Please.” 

And Connor finally feels a hot tongue prodding at him, once, twice, before slipping in. He shifts his hips down so that Ethan can go farther in as he collects his come. The loss is unfortunate, but the slick heat wriggling inside of him does more than make up for it, added onto the fact that Ethan could never reach all the come in him, which makes him more giddy than he’d ever admit. His hips move of their own accord as he grinds against Ethan’s face, squeezing his thighs against his cheeks. He keens as Ethan moves back to massage his tongue in a circle around his dick, flattening his tongue against it and pushing down gently. 

His body begins shaking as his fist clenches in the sheets and one of his legs snaps ramrod straight, the other coming up to push a heel into Ethan’s back, urging his twin on. More noises filter out and he bites on his lip again to restrict them. He can feel himself getting dizzy, and as if Ethan can sense him holding his breath again to stop his breathy gasps, he splays a hand on Connor’s thigh and taps it twice, their reminder for Connor to _breathe_. 

Connor gasps, and the pressure in his lungs dissipates. He’s panting now, every other breath interrupted by a soft moan or a needy whine. He swallows, trying to soothe his rough, dry throat, and throws an arm over his eyes—he’d do the same for his mouth to stifle the noises, but he’d just end up restricting his breathing again, and now is not the time for that. Ethan gives his dick a gentle suck and he jolts from the shock of pleasure. A sob builds in his throat and he throws his head to the side, tensing his muscles so that his hips rise, closer to Ethan. His abs keep twitching.

He’s the crest of a wave, _so close_ to crashing down; he just needs a little _push_. Ethan switches over to his lithe fingers, rubbing at Connor’s dick as he presses a kiss into Connor’s inner thigh. He bites down on the soft flesh, and _that’s_ the push Connor needs, because he’s coming, and Ethan helps him ride through it, even with some of his come splashing across his face. The constant stimulation starts to become too much, and he’s about to push Ethan away, but he’s already pulled back, crawling up to press a kiss to Connor’s neck and collapse beside him. 

The haze clears away and everything fades back into focus. His senses decide to function properly again, with the cramp in his right leg and the soft sheets under his skin and the sweat layering his body and pooling under his knees and on his nape filtering in. He notices the wet spot under his pelvis and groans. He doesn’t want to change the sheets. 

They can wait until tomorrow. For now, he pulls his shirt back down—the fabric bunching up is uncomfortable when cuddling—and rolls closer to Ethan and snuggles into his side, pushing him forward until he’s not lying in his own come anymore and covering his brother’s face in kitten licks to clean up his own come. Ethan closes his eyes and hums as Connor cleans him up, and after he’s done, Ethan wraps an arm around him and pulls him closer, tugging at one of the blankets untouched by come for the most part until it covers the both of them. He runs a hand through Connor’s sweaty hair and kisses his temple. Connor feels his chest warm for the umpteenth time that night. 

God, he adores his brother so much. 

Connor inhales deeply, then lets it all out in one _whoosh_ , leaning up to press a quick kiss on Ethan’s jawline. He throws a leg over Ethan’s hips, and scooches closer to him until every inch of skin is pressing against him, and the familiar safety and security washes over him. He smoothes a hand across Ethan’s chest. 

“Love you,” he says, sleep already clouding his voice.

Ethan doesn’t say anything, his breathing having already evened out. 

He doesn’t need to. Connor already knows. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to muffin and riri for the radass encouragement while we sprinted!! <33 love yall bitches smooches


End file.
